


Answer That (and stay fashionable!)

by seatbeltdrivein



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Gen, High School AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seatbeltdrivein/pseuds/seatbeltdrivein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Won 2nd place at fma_fic_contest during week 102: High school AU's] Sometimes Breda wondered if he smoked too much weed. This was one of those times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Answer That (and stay fashionable!)

It was Wednesday, and after three years of Wednesdays at Roy's aunt's place, Breda was good for the routine. Plus, Roy's aunt was a babe—Havoc agreed. Her tits kept them coming even when Roy's head was lodged so far up his own ass he couldn't speak coherently.

The weed didn't hurt, either.

Usually, they smoked in Roy's room. His aunt, awesome lady that she was, had given her nephew the pool house as his room, so they could all pretty much come and go whenever. Roy regularly went on about the three hundred girls he had coming in and out of the pool house at all hours. One time, when they were so blitzed he was sure Roy wouldn't remember it, Breda'd asked if Roy had a time sheet for all those women. "Like, wouldn't your dick be broken, after all that? There aren't enough hours in a day, man."

Roy hadn't answered, and later, Breda figured the asshole was exaggerating about his sexual prowess—pretty much like always.

Honestly, Roy made shit up all the time, like he was so bad ass. Breda and Havoc went along with it because Roy was an okay guy mostly, but sometimes he went a little far.

Havoc was working the seeds out of the dime bag they'd bought off Kimbley after classes that day. Breda was watching him, 'cause Havoc _never_ did it right, and they always wound up sucking seeds down the neck of the pipe, which was fucking gross as hell. Roy was leaning out the pool house window, arms crossed on the ledge. He was frowning, and Breda could tell a storm was brewing right there, was waiting for whatever was churning in Roy's mind to come spilling out in a torrent of god-knew-what. Usually, he'd bitch about Riza and how she never let him ask her out and took to kicking him in the jewels most days, but when Roy finally opened his mouth, it didn't have a damn thing to do with Riza—for once.

"Guys," he said. Havoc stopped picking at the grass and looked over. "Let's hotbox my aunt's van."

"Uh," Havoc said, and went back to the weed.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Breda asked. "I mean—your aunt could probably break us with one finger."

"Well, no shit," Roy scowled. "But she's not here."

"She's not?" Havoc's head shot up. "I vote for the van, then!"

Breda looked at Havoc, looked at Roy, and shrugged. "Yeah, okay." Roy grinned and patted him on the back, like, _see, I knew you were a smart guy!_ What an ass.

Chris Mustang's van wasn't a soccer mom van like the one Havoc's mom drove. No, it was practically an assault vehicle, with these ridiculous rims and side panels with flames and headlights like goddamn laser beams. Breda was pretty sure Roy was behind most of it, but it still made Chris Mustang the most badass mother figure any of them had ever met.

It also made Breda terrified of smoking in the van, which she had once told them was her real child and would be the beneficiary of both her last will and testament _and_ her life insurance. Roy'd laughed, but he'd been kind of drunk at the time, so Breda wasn't sure he even remembered it.

He did, though, and the moment they closed the van doors and lit up, he was pretty sure this would be one of those things they'd regret.

Or he _had_ thought that, right up until Roy had passed him the pipe with red eyes and a grin like the Cheshire cat. Then Breda mostly just thought life was fucking fantastic.

*

By the time they'd smoked the whole dime bag, all three bowls it got them, time was a non-issue, and the fact that it was getting dark outside didn't even occur to them. Havoc's head was against one of the windows and drool was pooling out his mouth and down his chin and all over his shoulder. Breda was just sort of—staring at the drool. It was shiny, kind of, and did all drool shine like that? He really wanted to know, actually. It seemed important, and he decided that maybe it was worth investigating.

"Rebecca," Roy said, "Y'know, Catalina, like," he made a curvy motion with his hands.

"No," Breda said. "She'd never, not with you."

"Like hell," Roy said, then, "why?"

"'Cause she's friends with Riza," Breda pointed out, and Roy let out a stream of curses that basically amounted to, _fuck, I forgot that part._

"Okay, okay," Roy said, "how about, uh, fuck, what's her name—Olivier, the French chick."

"Armstrong's sister," Breda said. "No, no way, not so long as you wanna keep your dick. Stay far, far away from that one."

"Whatever," Roy said. "I don't even know why I'm asking you. You never get laid, so—" Whatever insult he'd been about to throw was interrupted by a terrifying sound—Chris Mustang's cell phone ring.

Havoc shot right up, looking around wildly. "The fuck is that?" he hissed, climbing into this weird half-crouched position. "Is that—"

"My aunt," Roy said, staring blankly at Breda, numb with the terror. "Oh, fuck."

"I don't see her," Breda said, looking out the window, face pressed to the glass. "Where's the pipe?"

"I—I don't know," Roy said, panicking, "I think I put it under her seat?"

"What? Why the fuck would you do that?" Breda demanded.

Then the car door opened. "I was just about to ask the same thing." Chris Mustang poked her head in the car, took one look at the three terrified boys, and lifted her nose, sniffing the air like a dog. "You three," she said abruptly, "out of the van. Out, now!"

Havoc was the first to scramble out, climbing over Roy and Breda's legs, nearly kicking them both in the faces in his haste. Roy went next, the haze clearing quickly from his eyes, and Breda after. Chris waited for them to climb out before slamming the car door, nearly catching Breda's fingers in the process. She drummed her long nails on the car, staring at the three boys like a bull seeing red, and said, "Well? I'm waiting. You got an explanation for this, don't you? Roy-boy?"

Roy swallowed—loudly. Havoc was literally shaking, though maybe that was just the high wearing off, and Breda stared at his feet. _Fuck Wednesdays_ , he thought. He was never smoking again—assuming Chris left them alive to make that choice.


End file.
